Chapter 5
Incarnation of evil
A recurrent gust of wind carrying the venomous volcanic dust stroke the Dark Tower, but a tall figure on the balcony didn't stir. The black hair rumpled, and the tall one smoothed it carelessly. Black it was, black as his heart - when he still owned one. His didn't care about his physical appearance anymore- a shadow was his nature now. He was waiting, already for many years he was waiting for Him, for his Master.
A couple of years was nothing for him, for he was immortal, but the separation hurt, it added the feeling of being lonely, and he was engrossed in it alone, though he used to share his feelings with his brethren and his Master. But they were away, and he was alone.
Sometimes, when he approached the Ring that was carefully preserved in His dark chambers, he heard it quietly complaining, plaintively whispering:
Alone, alone… Speak with me, please speak with me for I am so alone… Does He return? When does He return? Don't go please, speak with me…just don't go…
And he always left the chambers immediately. His own ring was silent.
He felt a timid movement behind his back and turned. A hideous smell of a long unwashed body, foul clad and reverential fear- an orc entered the balcony, trembling and bending almost double.
"Goth," (1) he cawed, not daring to meet his gaze. No orc dared to meet the gaze of the Lord of the Nazgul.
"Mash?" (2) the Black Captain whispered.
Endeavoring to control his shivering body, the orc continued.
"Tal tark skaatuga ugadhol-ghaara." (3)
As he had said this, he pressed himself quickly against a wall and cowered for the Nazgul passed by, having already forgotten about his existence. Gasping convulsively, the orc slid down feebly along the wall…
Mentally the wraith smiled, stepping noiselessly over the cold floor of lonely passages. He had been already feared when still alive, and his heart had been beating and his blood had been running in his veins. People had shuddered when they had heard his name- for a great conqueror he had been, ruthless and merciless, a mighty Numenorean general, a son of the king. His inexorable sword had made no difference between old and young, men, women and children, spilling their contemptible blood for the glory of Numenor, and bringing death all of them who stayed in his way. They had not even dared to curse him aloud…
I was waiting in a large cold empty hall, the flame of torches was trembling with gusts of the wind, and shadows were dancing over the high ceiling and in the corners, whispering vaguely their mysterious song.
I had felt his presence before I saw him.
It was as if thousands of fine icy blades penetrated my body and my soul, searching for the heart. First I thought he was merely a shadow, but then I perceived he had also a face and a body not of mortal flesh. And I was surprised, for he was no doubt Numenorean- his appearance confirmed it. But not a common one, the bottomless gray eyes- the color of a storm wave, the perfect features, the long hair, as dark as a moonless night - very tall and broad-shouldered was he.
The Numenorean of the royal kin of old, before this kin fell into decay.
And his gaze I couldn't endure.
"Welcome, I was waiting for you," he hissed, the coldness of the grave slabs was in this hiss.
I nodded, unable to say anything.
"Follow me," he continued, turning and moving toward the black collapse in a wall.
I obeyed.
… My chambers in Lugburz were wide and quiet, situated on the upper levels of the Black Tower - they were nigh to His chambers. Only the Lord of the Nazgul dwelt nearer- a sign of unlimited trust.
After many centuries, the Black Captain will occupy the Tower of Sorcery, and I will dwell in his chambers, and there already will be no one between me and my Master…
As for the first Nazgul, he had me in that very first night. I will never forget his infinitely cold hands holding tightly my shivering body, his chilly lips gliding over my wet skin, his inhuman icy flesh penetrating me, and every movement of this flesh inside me froze the cries that were trying to escape from my lips, and his breath was a breath of death…
That was long ago…
I am told Numenor perished, but nothing stirred in my soul. I begin to forget…
And I am waiting…
Notes:
(1) – Goth- The Black Speech- "Lord".
(2) - Mash- The Black Speech- "What?".
(3) – The Black Speech- "There is a man arrived from the island".